Page 7 of Saving Tracey
It wasn't as if I could change my class either. I would have to fill out forms and talk to guidance counselors. Every student had to that tried to change their courses. I knew that the school wouldn't allow me to change my class just because I didn't want to do a stupid project.
Besides, my refusal to do this project would only bring about questions that really didn't need to be asked and that I frankly just couldn’t answer.
I walked into the school building and leaned against the wall in my usual spot by the English hallway, hoping that no one would approach me. I didn't want to talk to anyone, and I didn't want to deal with anyone.
More specifically, I really didn’t want to deal with Kaleb.
My history teacher that assigned this ridiculous project and Kaleb walked up to me a few minutes later, and anger rose in my chest, making me clench my hands into fists at my sides.
Great! He had fucking gone and told the teacher that I wasn't cooperating with him.
Could this shit possibly get any worse?
"Miss Olive, could you please come with me to the classroom? I'd like to talk to you for a few minutes before class.” Then, she turned on her heel to go down the hallway, expecting me to follow behind her.
With a heavy sigh, I pushed off the wall and followed the teacher and Kaleb to her classroom, my anger simmering just under the surface as I glared at their backs. This wasn't how I wanted this to go. I didn't ever want to be recognized. All my other teachers had gladly let me work on my own and fail instead of dealing with the problems and the fight that I put up against them.
Why did she have to fucking care? Why didn't Kaleb just fight to get a new partner that would actually cooperate?
Oh, that was right. Because he was Kaleb Brinson, and Kaleb Brinson was the fucking golden boy.
The teacher closed the door behind her, effectively shutting the three of us into the classroom. My guard went up instantly. Sweat trickled down my spine. My stomach churned.
I didn't like this. I didn't like this one fucking bit.
I wanted out of this classroom. I was trapped.
"Miss Olive, Mr. Brinson claims that you refuse to work with him on this project. I’m also hearing that you've told him that he should just make something up for his paper." She planted her hands on her hips, her disappointment in me clear as day on her face.
I glared at her with defiance gleaming in my eyes. "Yeah, I did.” She recoiled slightly since she had obviously expected me to lie to her. "Do you have a problem with that?"
She was a bit taken aback by my answer, and it took her a moment to respond. "Miss Olive, you need to cooperate with Mr. Brinson on this project or you will fail."Did it look like I gave a fuck?
I shrugged. "If I cared about whether or not I failed, do you really think that I would refuse to do this project?" It was a rhetorical question. "My grades don't matter to me.”
I mean, what did it matter if I passed or failed if I was just going to eventually kill myself anyway? Besides, I didn't have time to be worrying about my grades. My days were spent being beaten half to death and trying to restore my strength.
It was honestly a damn miracle I wasn't dead yet as it was.
"I'm sure they matter to your parents." I refrained from snorting. My parents honestly couldn't care less about my grades. "Would you like for me to call your mother and father? I know Mr. and Mrs. Olive would not be happy to hear their daughter doesn't care about her grades."
I sighed and dropped my bag on the floor beside a random desk and sat down in it, my body protesting at the ache that standing up without any kind of support for so long had brought.
What this teacher failed to realize was that my parents wouldn't give the slightest damn. Teachers had tried calling my parents before to get me to do my work, but my dad normally just hung up on them or told them that they were wasting his time. My dad was happy with me as long as he could use me as a punching bag and get pleasure from my body. My mother was happy as long as she wasn't left alone with my dad.
My grades and school honestly didn't mean shit to either of them.
"Call them." I was daring her. Shock lit up her features. "They'll be happy to inform you that you're wasting their precious time."
I looked over at Kaleb. He was angry—livid even. I could tell by his hard facial features, the arms that were crossed over his chest, and his tense muscles.
He had hoped that by coming to the teacher that I would work on this project with him when instead, he actually wasn't getting anything out of it.
"Miss Olive, please just work with Mr. Brinson on this project." She was pleading now, and I could see the defeat in her eyes. "Mr. Brinson is a straight-A student, and he was forced to take this class because of the lack of room in the advanced classes. Please, if you're not going to do any work, at least hang out with Mr. Brinson in or out of school at least twice this week and twice next week so he can get his grade honestly."
The bell rang, and I got up without another word, going to my seat in the back. Kaleb followed me, throwing his stuff down onto the floor and plopping into his seat with a huff before crossing his arms over his broad chest. I could feel his glare burning into my skull, but I kept my attention on the front of the classroom, forcing myself not to reveal how much his anger actually frightened me when he was this close.
"You have to be the most selfish bitch I have ever met." Anger laced his words.
